Set in Stone
by prettybirdy979
Summary: John keeps having dreams... Which always seem to come true...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Do not own this (I do however own a dog with fleas... Does that count?)**

**Author's Note: This is all written, the rest will be up once I've finished typing it. Written for a prompt.**

* * *

Left. Right. Across the road, and down two blocks. Up the fire escape stairs and across two roofs. Jump the gap, ignore the policeman behind crying out at my recklessness. Down the stairs and…

I stop. Which way? Left or right… I can't remember which Sherlock said to go next. I have to remember, his life may depend on it.

I hear puffing behind me, Lestrade has caught up. 'Which way now, John?' he asks but I ignore him. I need to remember. Left or right?

'John!'

'Left!' I cry, guessing. Then I'm off, running left down the street. Two blocks he said.

A gun shot from behind me has my blood running cold. Without thinking, I turn around dashing through the startled police, Lestrade yelling at my retreating back. Did no one hear that?

I run the two blocks to the right and I freeze when I reach the second street. There lies Sherlock Holmes, gunshot through his brilliant brain. His eyes are wide and unseeing and it's all my fault…

John jolts awake from his nightmare, screaming.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own**

**Author's Note: Because sleep is boring...**

* * *

Though the details of the dream faded from John's mind within minutes of waking, the bad feelings it caused lasted all day. John was depressed and worried his entire shift and every time he tried to figure out why, he could only think of Sherlock.

He had the dream again that night.

And it continued coming every night for the rest of the week. John still couldn't remember the details of the dreams, only a feeling of running, fear and…terrible guilt like everything was his fault. The only detail he could remember clearly surprised him. Every dream was set, not in the hot, sandy battlefields of Afghanistan but the cold, raining streets of London. The changing scenery only added to the unease caused by the dreams.

John tried to keep the dreams from Sherlock and mostly succeeded. He could tell Sherlock had noticed he was dreaming, from the little thins he did. Like asking for silly requests less and even playing lullabies on his violin early hours of the morning when John awoke. But John was sure he had kept the details of the dreams to himself, though Sherlock was starting to observe something was off.

Then he got a case and his attention was diverted.

And John welcomed the case. He found that when he was exhausted from the days spent searching he rarely dreamt.

Three days into the case and they were close to catching their killer. Sherlock was delighted at the intelligence of the criminal, while John, well he couldn't shake the feeling of déjà vu that got stronger every hour.

Finally on the third day Sherlock disappeared, leaving only a set of verbal instructions for John to follow with the police at exactly nine o'clock.

Dead on nine John took off from 221B Baker St, Lestrade and his men hot on his heels. Left, then Right at the next street. Across the road and down the two blocks. Up the fire escape stairs and across two roofs. Jumped the gap to the shock of the police behind him. Down the stairs there, onto the street and then…

John stopped, unsure of what went next. Lestrade came up behind him, puffing.

'Which way now, John?' John ignored him searching his memory and trying to shake the bad feeling.

'John!'

John went to say left, but something, some feeling stopped him. Instead he said 'I don't remember…'

'John…'

'I'm pretty sure it was left.'

'Right then.' Lestrade said. 'We'll go left, you double check right.'

And that was it, they were all off again. John's feeling of dread was getting stronger with each step and by the time he reached the second street, it's all he can do to ignore it.

As he reaches the end of Sherlock's instructions, John hears two voices in an alleyway. Recognising one as Sherlock's, he cautiously turns down it.

He reacts on instinct when he sees the gun.

As he's not stupid enough to carry an illegal firearm around the police, John's unarmed so he does the next best thing. With a flying tackle worthy of his rugby days he knocks the man to the ground.

In his surprise at being tackled from behind, the criminal fires a wild shot, forcing Sherlock to duck. As soon as he hits the ground, John is reaching for the hand with the gun. He covers the gun with his hand and wrestles it out of the man's hand.

The second he has it, he's on his feet pointing the gun at the man still on the ground.

'Don't move.'

'You're late, John.' Sherlock said as he straightens up. John shoots him a look of disbelief as the police come up behind him, attracted by the sound of the gunshot.

'Lestrade! You're even later then John.'

'Sorry about that Sherlock. We figured we would stop for a cup of tea on the way.'

'Ah, so you went the wrong way. How? I gave you perfectly clear instructions.'

'No, you gave John verbal directions and sent him for us.'

'John?' Sherlock turned on him.

'What? I'm sorry Sherlock, not all of us have a photographic memory like you.'

Sherlock huffed and walked off leaving John to explain how he got a gun.

And John couldn't shake the relief he felt at Sherlock being alive. It was like he had dodged a bullet. Well, more of one.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own... =(**

**Autor's Note: Because sleep is boring and study unimportant. =D**

* * *

The next time the nightmares come, it actually starts with a bad feeling long before John dreams. Sherlock has started some form of experiment involving chemicals and the second he gets out the beakers to begin, John starts to feel anxious. He tries to justify it as his usual anger at Sherlock using their flat as a lab but he knows he's lying to himself.

Two days after the experiment begins, the nightmares begin. This time the dreams are more vivid, and slowly John realised he could recall more the details. These dreams were clearly set in 221B Baker St, and John always remembered there being an explosion in the kitchen and…blood.

It was then he always awoke, screaming.

It took a full week after the dreams began for John to recall every detail…

_It is late night and Sherlock and I are both home. I'm watching bad telly, and Sherlock is working on his experiment. He's also predicting the results of the game show I'm watching without looking, and I'm laughing at his tone._

_Then, smiling, he adds another chemical and everything goes to hell._

_There's an explosion, things flying everywhere. I dive to the ground, screaming his name hopelessly._

_Later, it's determined that Sherlock's death was caused by the mixing of super reactive chemicals. Some say it was suicide, others an accident. I know it was my fault. If I hadn't distracted Sherlock, he wouldn't had mixed the wrong chemicals…or would have noticed that something was off in the experiment._

_He would still be alive._

* * *

John dragged himself down the stair the morning after he remembers the dream fully. He's pretending to be exhausted, but really he's a man on a mission- 'To save Sherlock'. It's a mission he's on a lot, to be honest.

Sherlock, for once, wasn't in the living room or kitchen when John made it downstairs. But John could hear him in his room, though what exactly he was doing to create all those bangs was a mystery.

And there it was, the experiment that was going to kill Sherlock, sitting innocently on the kitchen table. John moved to throw it out, but just them Sherlock emerged from his room and John quickly changed his direction to head for the kettle.

'Cup of tea?'

'Hmm? Oh yes.' Sherlock collapsed into his chair and grabbed the paper left on the coffee table by Mrs Hudson.

John begun making tea, while covertly eyeing the experiment. He knew he had to act now…Sherlock was going to die tonight if he didn't. He also ignored the implications of the fact he just _knew_ that.

He nearly knocked one cup of tea over in his distraction, and inspiration struck him.

'Biscuits?'

'Sure.'

John placed the two cups on the table and grabbed the biscuit tin and a plate, placing the tin on the table as well. As he went to return the tin to the cupboard he brushed against the main beaker in what looked like a clumsy movement, but really was a (quickly) planned movement.

'Watch it!' Sherlock yelled, but it was too late. John's movement had knocked the beaker to the floor where it fizzed violently.

And as Sherlock to yell at him for his clumsiness, John hid his smile.

* * *

After that, the dreams just kept coming. Most of them faded from John's memory soon after he woke but the more important ones seemed to stick.

And they all concerned Sherlock. And his death, mostly.

Like when he was standing at another crime scene. This one was in a run down old house and there were concerns about the house's stability. Of course Sherlock ignored them. So John had to make sure he was the first one up the stairs, least his recent dream come true. Therefore when they collapsed, he would be the only one affected and would be able to get out of the way.

He barely made it.

Sherlock, once he knew John was fine, was just put out that he couldn't see the rest of the house until it was stabilised.

* * *

**Author's Note: More to come! =D**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own...**

**Author's Note: Sorry that it's so short... I couldn't find anywhere else to break it up. Next chapter will be up very, very soon.**

* * *

The first time John had a vision while awake he barely had any time to consider what it meant.

He was about to walk across the road with Sherlock. Sherlock is waving his hands around, ranting about the stupidity of the police and John is just smiling and nodding.

_Sherlock steps out onto the road. I watch in horror as he disappears with a squeal of brakes. The white car manages to stop in seconds but it's too late. I can see the broken body of my flatmate laying a few short metres away…_

John returned to himself in time to see Sherlock about to step out onto the road. Without thinking, John grabbed the back of Sherlock's coat and pulled him back, signing in relief as the white car passed.

'John?'

'You obviously didn't see that car.'

'I see everything. I had plenty of time to get across before it came.'

'Of course you did.'

And huffing, Sherlock crossed the street, leaving John to follow.

* * *

John wasn't sure he liked turn of events. Sure it meant the dreams of death were gone and that was always a plus in John's book. But it meant far less warning before dangerous events, often only a few seconds compared to the days or weeks he had grown used to.

And they were harder to hide. Before John had been able to pretend his visions were nightmares, memories of Afghanistan. It was impossible to hide these as anything other then space outs. And he knew Sherlock wasn't stupid. He was going to notice a pattern sooner or later.

It was only a matter of time before he did, and then figured John out.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Own as much as I did earlier...**

**Author's Note: I was right! I've got this up today. =D**

* * *

John was sure exactly how he excepted Sherlock to find out about his visions. To be honest, he thought that Sherlock would deduce it or it would be vital to the case that Sherlock knew.

Actually, to be really honest, John was sure Sherlock would only find out when John stepped between him and some means of his destruction.

Well, that one wasn't far off.

* * *

Moriarty was back.

Or was coming back. Sometimes the tense got confused in John's head. And of course, John's "ability" chose that moment to change. Again.

* * *

The first night the dreams came, John woke up sobbing. Watching a child die was… _horrible_ beyond words and watching six of them die together… Well, it meant John tried his best to not sleep for a week. His only consolation was that at least it wasn't Sherlock, that he was going to be okay. And it cleared the implications that only dreaming about Sherlock had created.

But then, there came nights when the dreams were indistinct, the figures within it shadowy and the events unclear. John got the impression that whatever these dreams were about, they a) involved Sherlock, and b) required a series of events, most likely his other dreams to occur before the events within them could occur.

He didn't like how they got clearer every day.

* * *

When the note from Moriarty arrived, it began to make sense, Not much sense, but John figured that if the first dreams didn't happen the unclear, shadowy one wouldn't and whatever happened to Sherlock wouldn't happen.

So he came up with a plan. These dreams were looking to be about the cases Moriarty was giving Sherlock. So, while he couldn't solve the cases, he could discretely point Sherlock in the right direction. Just a well placed comment here, an idle thought there and he would change what was to come.

Would could go wrong?

* * *

The first case presented to Sherlock was simple. Well, simple to Sherlock who could easily deduce the answer and to John who already knew it. He probably wouldn't have taken it, except Moriarty had presented it to him. And he had threatened to kill six children every time Sherlock was wrong. This only proved that John was right about heroes and Sherlock…but this wasn't the time to gloat.

But there was a twist in the case that only John could see coming. The murdered woman had been found at one end of town and the three main suspects had been on the other side. One of them was missing a large amount of money, which was concluded by the police to be the payment to the hired killer.

Sherlock had concluded it to be a gambling debt.

This left two suspects, one the woman's brother, the other her father. Both had had a falling out with her recently, over relatively similar matters. However, while the father was a calmer fellow, the brother was well known for working himself into fits of rage and it fit the crime scene. Sherlock quickly proved his alibi of being at the pub false as apart from the bartender and regulars who were friends of his, no one remembered him being there. It seemed to be that the brother had killed his sister in a fit of rage and got his friends to lie for him.

Except John knew, beyond a doubt, that there had been two men present at her death. He knew that the brother had had help. He just had to get Sherlock to see…

'Well that's good then.'

'Excuse me?' Sherlock asked from where he was about to update his site.

'I said, that's good then.'

'What is?'

'That Moriarty is giving you easier puzzles. You said this case was simple enough. He must not be as smart as he thinks he is.'

Sherlock was silent for a moment or two. Then he dashed out of the room, without updating the site.

An hour later the father was arrested as well, and John hid his smile and feeling of relief.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own...**

**Author's Note: Sorry about the wait, I've been sick recently. And sorry it's so short... It was the only place I could break it up. **

* * *

Within minutes of solving the first case Sherlock was on the second. This time there were seven lives on the line, the six children and a man whose kidnapping was the case. It wasn't that hard a case, Sherlock was able to deduce a dozen places the man could seconds after seeing the case.

The problem was they only had half an hour to search all twelve sites and no where near enough manpower to do it. So they were quickly debating which site to concentrate on and were about to chose._ The. Wrong. One_.

John's mind whirled, trying to figure out how to change Sherlock's mind. It dawned on him that he couldn't, that his only option lay in going off alone.

_Well, Sherlock does it all the time. Why shouldn't I be able to do it?_ John thought.

Finding the location didn't take long. It actually took longer to get through the many traps Moriarty had set for Sherlock. For the first time, John's 'gift' acted to save his own life, giving millisecond warnings of coming traps.

Even with that, he only just managed to find the man before the time was up.

John grabbed his mobile, which he been ignoring while he searched. Ignoring the 27 texts and 3 missed calls, he called Sherlock.

'Sherlock, call Moriarty. Tell him you found him at the third location.' John hung up before Sherlock had the chance to reply and then dialled for an ambulance.

He also ignored the nagging feeling that this was going to be hard to explain.

* * *

Sherlock was sitting in his chair when John returned to 221B Baker St. All the lights were off and Sherlock wasn't doing anything but staring at the wall. Well acquainted with the kind of mood his flatmate seemed to be in, John moved into the kitchen to make.

'Why?' John was startled by Sherlock speaking suddenly.

'Sorry, what?'

'Why did you agree to work with Moriarty. Because you owed him, because Harry owes him? Or because you…wanted to? I've figured it all out, but I can't figure this out.'

'What are you on about?' John asked returning to the living room.

Sherlock stood up. 'Why are you working for Moriarty? And what are his plans? I fail to understand how help'

'Sherlock, I'm not working for Moriarty.' John cut in.

'Lying.'

'What?'

'You're lying. There is only one possible way for you to know exactly how to solve the case. That is, that you knew in advance where to look.'

'And that instantly means I must be working for Moriarty.'

'No… it's the most likely option.'

'Well, you're wrong.'

'I'm never wrong.'

'Yes you are.'

'If I am, then how did you know?'

And John hesitated, unsure of how to answer. Sherlock took his silence as an answer and stormed out of the flat.

Helplessly, John watched him go.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own**

**Author's Note: *sigh* I can't sleep, so I figured I would post this. Lucky you. =D**

* * *

It was only half an hour after Sherlock left that John had a vision. He was sitting in his chair, waiting for Sherlock to return or call or text while watching his site.

He was debating whether or not to call Mycroft, when his head suddenly hurt and he found himself standing in an alleyway. If felt so real, he could feel the cold of the night, hear the traffic on the street and see…

See Sherlock and Moriarty facing another before him, clearly arguing. Moriarty smiled.

'You know Sherlock, you should have listened to your little pet. He wasn't lying.' And, with a nod from Moriarty, the sniper on the roof behind him shot Sherlock.

'John! John!'

John snapped out of… whatever thing he had been in to see Lestrade's concerned face in front of him.

'John, are you alright?'

'Me? I'm fine. Did you need something, Inspector?'

'I need to speak to Sherlock. I was wondering if you knew where he was.'

John blinked, processing the request. Then, he stood up, dodged around Lestrade and went for his coat.

'So you know where he is?'

'No, but I know where he's going to be.'

And with that John left, leaving a bemused Lestrade behind him.

* * *

Sherlock was angry. And betrayed which was making him angrier, because he shouldn't have let John get that close. No one got that close and it suited him, as he never got hurt.

He was so distracted by his thoughts and feelings, that Sherlock almost missed the man standing by the alleyway.

Almost being the key word.

As Moriarty smiled and waved, then walked down the alleyway Sherlock found himself following. He ignored the voice in his head, which sounded a lot like John, screaming that this was a trap.

_After all, I survived the last trap, _he thought. Again he ignored the voice which corrected the 'I' with a 'we' as without John, he would not have survived.

'This is a surprise.' Jim commented once he had stopped and turned to face Sherlock.

'What is?'

'You don't have your pet. I would have thought that he would have stayed close to your heels once I showed up. After what happened last time we met.'

'You would know.'

Jim raised his eyebrows. 'I would?' he said with a smile.

'He's in your employ, he admitted as much.'

'He did, did he? He said he was working for me?'

Sherlock was confused. 'No, he told me I was wrong, but I'm never wrong.'

And Jim smile grew. 'Oh this is brilliant. I was looking forward to a proper chat, but this is so much better. You've lost your heart.'

'I don't have one.' Sherlock snapped.

'Not according to John.'

'He's wrong.'

Jim's smile was beyond huge now. 'You know Sherlock, you should have listened to your little pet. He wasn't lying.'

Then a gunshot rung out though the night.


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I still don't own...**

**Author's Note: It's late and I'm still not sleepy. So I finished this off. Last chapter... Enjoy =D**

* * *

Sherlock automatically flinched at the gunshot, then marvelled at the fact he could flinch. He opened his eyes, though he couldn't remember closing them and looked up.

Jim Moriarty turned his head slightly, a look of surprise on his face before he collapsed. The bullet hole in his chest spoke of the method of his death. And behind him stood John Watson, still holding the unfamiliar gun that had killed him.

'How did you get the gun?' Sherlock asked as a greeting.

'Sniper on the roof.' Sherlock nodded, and then frowned.

'How did you know…John!' Sherlock cried, moving to catch John as he suddenly collapsed.

'John! What's happened? What's wrong?' Sherlock drew one of his hands away from John to find it covered in blood.

'John, how did this happen? John!'

'I…didn't…see…it… I always…see.' John wheezed out. Then, with a sigh, his eyes closed.

'John! JOHN!'

* * *

It was dark and John couldn't see. He felt like he was drowning and nothing could save him.

Gradually the feeling lessened. Slowly, light began to creep in, along with a voice calling his name.

Then something shaking his hand.

'John. John.'

'Groggily, he opened his eyes, closing them straight away, flinching away from the light.

'Oh no you don't. I saw that. Wake up and talk to me.'

A finger started poking John's arm and John found himself forced to open his eyes to try and get it to stop. Looking around he saw Sherlock sitting by his side, finger raised to poke again.

'Finally! Do you know how boring it is here? The doctors and nurses are so tiresome.'

'Why…'

'Why am I here?' Sherlock looked confused. 'I thought that was what friends did. Did I get it wrong?'

John shook his head. 'What happened?'

Sherlock's face went dark. 'When you disarmed that sniper you failed to notice the knife he gave you and you began to bleed out. Now, I need to know what you meant by your final statement before you passed out.'

John thought for a moment, and then inwardly cringed at the realisation of what he had said. 'What statement?' he said, playing dumb.

Sherlock wasn't having it. 'I can see by the tiny signs of panic you're exhibiting that you know what I mean. So explain.'

John looked down. 'I've been having theses dreams and…visions. And sometimes they come true.'

'Like psychic visions.'

'More like, informed intuition most of the time.'

Sherlock gave him a considering look. 'And with Moriarty?'

John was taking confidence from the fact Sherlock wasn't mocking him or calling for the psyche ward. 'That was different.'

'How?'

'When I saw it, it was as if I was there, living it with you.'

'Hmm…' Sherlock sat back considering this information. 'Is there a common theme to these visions?'

'Umm… death? Wait, do you believe me?' John couldn't keep the relief out of his voice.

Sherlock looked affronted. 'Of course. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever reminds, however mad, must be the truth. Now, did your visions ever concern yourself? If so, why are you here?'

Overjoyed, John began to answer Sherlock's questions.

* * *

John hadn't excepted things to stay the same after Sherlock found out about his visions and was pleasantly surprised when they mostly did. Yes, now every morning when he woke Sherlock would ask after John's dreams and receive a blow-by-blow recount in return. And yes, whenever John spaced out slightly, Sherlock would distract people while watching John out of the corner of his eye for a signal of what was to come. Or ask after it later, which ever worked. Sherlock even started listening to John opinion. Well, a bit more then usual.

But really, John saved Sherlock's life once in a while and Sherlock saved John from a life of boredom.

Business as usual.

The End


	9. Author's Note

Hi!

I know it's been ages since this was written but here's an update for anyone still following it/anyone who manages to struggle through this to read this note.

I had planned to clean this fic up a bit, and move it over to AO3 with all my more recent fics. But upon rereading it I realised it was of a very poor quality. So I rewrote it completely for the move as I did love the idea behind it.

As of the 10th May 2014, the first chapter has been posted at the: archive of our own dot org (/) works (/) 1592357 (remove all spaces and brackets and replace dot with '.'- there's a link to my AO3 on my profile page where this fic is posted under the same name) for anyone who is interested. I'll be updating as my free time allows, which should be semi-regularly.

Thank you to anyone who reads this,

prettybirdy979


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